


Accidents Happen

by M155_C0nfu510n



Category: Bleach
Genre: Beware of textbook prices, M/M, Stress of a love life in college, Stuff happens while drunk, Teacher-Student Relationship, nosy friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9083356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M155_C0nfu510n/pseuds/M155_C0nfu510n
Summary: It's easy enough to make a mistake while sober, but pretty much guaranteed while drunk. Ichigo learns this simple fact the day before fall semester starts, and the consequences are beyond anything he could ever imagine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First fic on this website so whoo! Progress being made! This is more a goofy, hopefully semi-realistic idea and I hope everyone likes it. Nothing too extreme happens, and it's relatively chill, enjoy.

  
  


Ichigo honestly felt like he could kill Renji right now. It was the redhead’s fault for dragging him out the night before and leaving him with a skull cracking headache. And, okay, it also might’ve had something to do with waking up in a random hotel room to an empty bed and a messily scrawled note with a winking cat and phone number that put him in such a bad mood, but, honestly, who could blame him?

 

Ichigo sighed as he sunk into a seat in the middle of his morning Literature class, the first of the semester, and lay his head on his worn desk. The indentations from past pens and nails rubbed his forehead raw and caused the oranget to rest on his crossed arms instead. Ichigo closed his eyes against the harsh sunlight streaming into the classroom, listening to the pleasant thrum of simple conversation between total strangers. The atmosphere was peaceful in the wierdest way and brought a smile to Ichigo’s lips.

 

Until the door slammed and a familiar deep voice echoed off the high walls. “Goooood morning, students! Welcome to the best class you’ll ever have during your college career.”

 

Ichigo was loathed to open his eyes, or raise them, as they were already widened to an uncomfortable extent. Because it was just _too_ coincidental that this voice happened to match the one that had been groaning the most obscene things into his ear the night before, right?

 

But it was with sheer reluctance and a hastily whispered prayer that Ichigo straightened in his chair, eyes immediately connecting with pools of blue. And he could see it then, that recognition light up into shock, horror, and finally settling into a numb neutrality. Ichigo was thankful the man had such a good hold on his emotions, as others would be quick to react harshly or extravagantly and cause more problems for both parties involved. Small mercies be blessed.

 

The entirety of the class was devoted to a thorough once-over of the syllabus with questions being asked by the more education oriented students at the end. The teacher, Mr. Jaegerjaques- who joked about his nickname being the Grimm Reaper-, happily answered everything with an easygoing smile before offering them all a few positive words about the upcoming year and dismissing them with twenty minutes to spare.

 

Ichigo was one of the last to leave in the mad dash to get out of the classroom, hanging casually by the front of his row until the last of the students left with the door slamming behind them. With the sudden silence and lack of extra bodies milling around, Ichigo finally felt those pesky nerves creep upon him. It also might’ve had something to do with the penetrating (No! Bad word for this situation!) eyes boring into his skull.

 

“So...come here often?” Ichigo, so stressed from the situation and the first class of his sophomore year, could do nothing but snort in honest amusement at the pick-up line that had led to him having sex with his Literature professor in a seedy hotel. And as he finally looked at the man, beyond those eyes that trapped him so easily, he realized just how mesmerizing Grimmjow’s features were in something other than strobe lights and a flickering fluorescent. That feeling he felt melt into his veins with an illegal amount of alcohol returned with a vengeance, sobering his body faster than any remedy he could think of. And who was Ichigo to fight it?

 

“I will be considering I sold my soul for this semester.” That combined with his cheeky smile earned a laugh from the man who had no doubt caught the attention of half the girls in his first class. Ichigo also took that time to appreciate the way Grimmjow’s nose scrunched up with his grin. “Honestly. I don’t see how you’re finding joy in my misery.”

 

Grimmjow’s eyes seemed to sharpen at the retort, Ichigo stiffening in the worst possible way as that grin morphed into a smirk that promised nothing but sin, “I seem to recall you _begging_ for that misery last night. Your hands wrapped so prettily around that headboard while my fingers pressed at that lovely little spot inside that made you _scream_.”

 

Ichigo knew a blush was in full effect, could feel his cheeks burning as he fought down the arousal that went from 0 to 100 in the time it took Grimmjow to go from laughing professor to saucy sex god. And didn’t that just give the man too much credit…

 

“Somebody wants a repeat performance.” Ichigo took a few rapid steps away from the man leaning _way_ too close for comfort- in a classroom of all places! Shaking away thoughts that were taking a rapid plunge into a pleasurable abyss, Ichigo managed to force himself towards the door.

 

“Um, maybe we can talk about this later?” _Or not_ . Because Ichigo wasn’t sure if his body could withstand being in such close proximity to the man that turned his world upside down in the best of ways. And, _god_ , what he could do with that tongue! Ichigo’s blush was back full force in the time it took for him to shake away his traitorous thoughts and focus on the blue haired man leaning casually against his desk with his arms crossed over a broad chest.

 

“You have my number.” Grimmjow’s smirk was back with a vengeance, now accompanied by the teasing flick of a tongue along pink lips. Ichigo ran out the classroom before he could make a bigger fool of himself, not wanting to get caught in another verbal teardown by a man that had _way_ too much control over him to be healthy.

 

And it was as Ichigo was racing from the English building and towards the dorms on the opposite end of campus that he remembered why exactly he was in this situation. With a renewed energy, now spurred by anger rather than arousal, Ichigo turned onto another pathway and headed towards the math building.

 

Renji would regret the day he _ever_ gave Ichigo his schedule.

 

* * *

  


Ichigo sighed as he adjusted his reading glasses on his nose, shuffling through his pile of syllabi with deft fingers until he came upon the one he wanted. His Calculus teacher had been extremely adamant about keeping up with the syllabus, already pointing out an assignment that would be due at the next class on Wednesday. And another on Friday. And again the following Monday, following this neverending pattern until finals time. Ichigo was dreading the upcoming year, and he had only been to two classes that day.

 

Speaking of his two classes, Ichigo glanced at the syllabus he had pushed aside in exchange for glaring at the one for Calculus. It looked innocent enough, the name of the class printed at the top of the page with Grimmjow’s name and contact information underneath. Ichigo set the Calculus syllabus next to the one for Literature.

 

“Good going, Ichigo. You’ve fucked up before classes even started.” The orange haired sophomore rubbed tiredly at his eyes before shoving both syllabi away with a huff. Flopping back on his unmade bed, Ichigo began to go over the short conversation he’d had with Grimmjow after class.

 

It was strangely similar to the few words they exchanged at the bar, though there was that new hint of something beyond mindless lust. Ichigo pulled his pillow over his face as he groaned, his immediate thoughts drifting to that moment where Grimmjow had taken the conversation down a dark path. A  dark, sinfully arousing path.

 

Ichigo jumped when he felt his phone vibrate beside him, glancing at the caller id before answering the call. “Sup, Rukia?”

 

“ICHIGO!” The orange haired sophomore winced as he quickly yanked the phone away from his ear. He could always count on Rukia to ruin whatever semblance of calm he existed in, no matter how short it was. With a weary sigh, Ichigo cautiously brought the phone back to his ear, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you have Lit with that new teacher?! He is _gorgeous_.”

 

“I barely paid attention to which course I signed up for, Rukia. And he’s the only one that had no reviews on that teacher website,” Ichigo thanked whatever gods were up there for creating the website devoted solely to students rating past professors they’ve had. It was a blessing in the truest form and helped Ichigo more times than he could count. “Besides, I don’t even know if he’s a good teacher yet.”

 

Which was honestly a half truth. Ichigo had a vague recollection of the previous night when Grimmjow took the reins with practiced ease and (not-so-subtly) nudged Ichigo into the unfamiliar motions of sex with another man. His blush was back full force as he remembered those gentle fingers prodding, moving, caressing skin that had been untouched and _so_ ready for what Grimmjow had to offer. He was so far gone and he barely knew the guy…

 

“Like I care? Do you know how much I would pay just to sit there and watch him talk for fifty minutes?” Ichigo rolled his eyes at Rukia’s awestruck tone. Leave it to the girl to want to waste money on a class she didn’t need just to stare at the teacher. Blasphemy, if you asked him. “What’s the syllabus look like? I might actually get on this tomorrow…”

 

“Rukia, chill.” Ichigo shoved the Literature syllabus further under the one for Calculus, “He says it’s gonna be a good class and the syllabus is the generic stuff you get with all teachers. A shitload of reading to do, though.”

 

Speaking of, Ichigo’s eyes drifted towards his new literature textbook peeking out the opening of his bookbag. If Ichigo wasn’t mistaken, he had a thirty page introduction to read by Wednesday...wonderful. Ichigo was so caught up in his self pity that he barely caught Rukia’s next words. “Fine, I’ll only believe you cause you’re an English major. Just make sure to sneak some pics for me, will ya?”

 

“No problem, Rukia. But I gotta go, cause this assignment he gave out is already a bit much.” And that wasn't a joke. Ichigo had reluctantly pulled his book close before flipping to the first page, squinting to desperately read the tiny print running the length of the page. If he was lucky, he could finish this without sleeping that night. A weary sigh passed his lips as Rukia offered a sympathetic farewell and ended the call.

 

Tossing the phone aside, Ichigo finally focused on his homework, questioning just how well he could handle this year with the way things were starting off.

 

* * *

  


The answer was terribly. Ichigo wanted to cry as he was again given four syllabi with a year’s-worth of work printed in Times New Roman. He could already feel his frazzled nerves peeking through his semi-permeable tough-guy exterior. Visions of the long sleepless nights filled with mocha Monsters and unhealthy foods, his slowly emptying wallet with the amount of papers that would need to be printed, all of it coalescing into a royal clusterfuck of a year.

 

At least he had a positive outlook on it…

 

Speaking of positive, Ichigo was now beyond sure that he had not only screwed the hottest man in existence but his own life up that drunken night. Well, that was the only reason he could think of for such a year to sneak up and bite him in the ass (and, besides Grimmjow, he did _not_ mean that literally).

 

The orange haired sophomore refrained from banging his head into his desk for the umpteenth time that day, already sure he had killed a few useful brain cells from the repeated personal abuse only hours before. But- bless the gods of every religion!- at least he got that reading done. Which is why he was now hurriedly working through his math homework, or as quickly as one could when they were in Calculus and didn’t have a graphing calculator. Ichigo shook away his distracting thoughts and focused back on the last few problems, working through derivatives and tangents with a weary finesse until he collapsed back with his completed homework stuck between the pages of his textbook.

 

So, maybe it was stupid to take both Calculus and Biology in the same year, but did he listen to his father and literally _all_ of his friends? _No_ . Because he was _so sure_ that he was smart enough to handle everything and now he was two days into the school year and bone-tired.

 

Bone...ha, that sounded good right now.

 

Ichigo quickly shook that thought away, shoving his phone further down the bed for extra measures. He would be damned if he called his Literature teacher for a quickie just because he was stressed. And on top of that, he shouldn’t even _want_ to see the man again on account of their complicated relationship- Ichigo was sure he saw something in the student handbook (or the news multiple times, but who was counting?) about relationships between teachers and students. The red tape was obvious and Ichigo, though loathe to abide by it currently, was not about to jeopardize his scholarship for a quick fling.

 

The orange haired sophomore sighed at his depressing thoughts, staring mournfully at his right hand before popping the button of his pants.

 

Thinking of Grimmjow was not healthy for his body or mind.

 

* * *

  


“I don’t think we should continue seeing each other.” Good, he’d done it, and without the shaking voice he had initially had when rehearsing this little conversation in his mirror that morning. Ichigo would’ve felt pride at the small accomplishment if it wasn’t for Grimmjow’s superior smirk growing minutely.

 

“And I agree wholeheartedly.” What...Ichigo’s small bit of hope that Grimmjow would be pinning for him in a similar state was dashed so quickly he was left speechless. It hurt. And wasn’t that just the icing on the cake that was his already fucked-up school year. “If that’ll be all, you’re free to leave. And don’t hesitate to call if you have any trouble with the work.”

 

Ichigo found himself leaving the classroom in a daze, the likes of which left him deaf to the lecture of his Calculus class an hour later- a wasted fifty minutes on notes that would make his homework infinitely less complicated than it already was. And when the orange haired sophomore finally reached his room at twelve, he collapsed on his bed with the weight of all his hundred dollar books pressing on his chest.

 

Ichigo glared at the wall, the only thing close enough and silent enough to turn his ire on. He shouldn’t even get this worked up over someone that was just a quick fling, but, even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that first hook had latched onto his core. The thought of giving up the man hurt like a serrated blade to the heart the night before, and now it was like the damned knife had been twisted and thrust back and forth until there was no heart for it to pierce.

 

Ichigo’s glare intensified at the poetic turn of this thoughts. Leave it to the man who would be teaching him the core aspects of being a Literature major to turn his anger into something...beautiful? Morbidly romantic? Ichigo tried valiantly to shake the thoughts from his head, flopping onto his back and staring at his ceiling instead.

 

The swirling fan immediately drew his thoughts. Ichigo found himself again thankful that he could afford an apartment a short walk from the campus, not wanting anyone to witness the mess he turned into after a few days of insanity. Ichigo frowned at that: insanity. It wasn’t so insane that a student accidentally slept with their teacher while drunk, right? And it was an accident on both parts, so if there was a chance to lay blame, it would be placed on Grimmjow also.

 

Ichigo groaned as he shoved his pillow over his face, trying to muffle the very Grimmjow-esque thoughts with the fresh scent of Hawaiian Breeze or whatever detergent he used to wash his pillowcases.

 

And if he held it there long enough to fall asleep, then that was fine by him.

 

* * *

  


The next few months passed in a strangely surreal drag. Between shitloads of homework, hanging out with his friends, struggling to eat three meals a day, and shaking thoughts of Grimmjow (probably the most complicated considering he saw the man three days out of the week) from his head, Ichigo had little time to concern himself with anything extra.

 

At least, he thought he did.

 

After working himself into the sixth or seventh ‘stress coma’- as dubbed by his friends when he skipped sleeping to catch up on much needed work- his friends decided it was time for him to take a much deserved break. Ichigo agreed wholeheartedly when he found himself falling asleep in his coffee on a Friday morning.

 

It was a thankfully small gathering at Rukia and Renji’s shared apartment, their complex a few streets away from Ichigo’s own. The alcohol was purchased ‘legally’ by Rukia’s older brother and left the group in a state of buzzed bliss by eight that night. And Ichigo, feeling better than he had since that drunken night, was all for the giggle-strewn game of Truth or Dare.

 

An empty bottle from their ever growing pile was placed in the circle of friends and spun by an unusually smiling Uryuu. And so began a game filled with saucy dares and dramatic confessions. It was only after Renji’s lapdance, that Ichigo was finally chosen by the bottle, a grinning Rukia piercing him with alcohol dazed eyes. The confident ‘Truth’ was met with a few boos but overall went ignored.

 

Even while drunk, he wasn’t willing to risk a dare from Rukia- the girl held nothing back during Truth or Dare- but as Ichigo saw the evil smile twist Rukia’s features into something demonic, he began to think no option was safe from the raven.

 

“Who was that dude you went home with the night before classes started?”

 

Oh shit…

 

Ichigo’s eyes widened, his half full bottle of beer falling to the floor with a small clatter. The mess went unnoticed by the group as all eyes focused on Ichigo, interest peaked. God, this was _not_ what he had imagined when he agreed to this stupid night of supposed relaxation and joy with his friends. He was in no way prepared for Rukia’s stupid memory peeking through her alcohol induced haze and asking the one question he was _loathe_ to answer- mainly because he assumed his friends had forgotten. Or at least had the common decency to never question where he was and why he was so set on ruining Renji’s life the following weeks.

 

So much for assuming…

 

“Dare?” Ichigo winced as the group went into an uproar at his cowardice. Screw the fact that it was borne from self-preservation and embarrassment rather than actual _fear_. But as the complaints grew to a fever pitch- Rukia’s voice no doubt causing the neighbors an untold amount of grief- Ichigo found himself relenting.

 

Placating hands were raised as he took a calming breath, muttering Grimmjow’s name with red cheeks. And Rukia, queen supreme (1) that she was, exaggerated what Ichigo already knew by cupping a hand to her ear and leaning obscenely close.

 

“Grimmjow Jeagerjaques.” Ichigo’s eyes were firmly planted on the worn wood of Rukia and Renji’s apartment, zeroing in on the small puddle of alcohol from his spilled bottle. He couldn’t bring himself to pick it up.

 

Orihime, voice of reason that she was that night, was the first to speak up, “C-Can you repeat that?”

 

“Grimmjow Jeagerjaques.” Ichigo’s voice had lowered to a near whisper but was easily heard in the stifling silence of the room. Ichigo found himself wishing he had told his friends before this stupid night, but every time he worked up the courage, he was met with another obstacle. Whether it be a surprise assignment that wasn’t posted on the syllabus or getting called into work an extra shift at his job, Ichigo had always been diverted from telling everyone.

 

And as the silence continued to stretch around the group, Ichigo realized just how well that initial conversation might have went over. The only positive thing he could find in this whole situation was the lack of yelling…

 

“You went home with...Jeagerjaques…”

 

“You slept with your professor…”

 

“You saw his dick!” Matsumoto’s exclamation caused everyone to jump, but the smile on her lips and light in her eyes belied her awe at the situation, “Was it huge? I heard from a few guys at the gym that he is _packin_ ’! Ichi, tell me everything!”

 

By this point, the redhead had reached across the circle and hooked her claw-like nails into Ichigo’s shoulders. The orange haired sophomore could do nothing as his alcohol addled brain was shaken like a martini, his stomach vehemently protesting the rough treatment. It was only when someone dislodged Matsumoto’s nails from his shoulder, Ichigo flopping on his back uselessly, that he was finally able to calm his uneasy stomach.

 

“You’re gonna kill him!”

 

“I will if he doesn’t answer me!”

 

Ichigo looked up in time to see Matsumoto make a mad grab for him, only Renji and Uryu’s quick hands keeping her from shaking him into a useless pile of goo. The oranget shifted farther away from the circle to avoid the woman’s wrath, fear gnawing at his insides. Everyone managed to calm Matsumoto down soon enough, a few placating (restricting is a better word) hands on her shoulders. Ichigo reluctantly slipped back into his vacated spot in the broken circle, the drunken stupor all but gone in the struggle for his immediate demise.

 

“Now that everyone is calm again,” Rukia sent a pointed look at Matsumoto, who only pouted petulantly, “Let’s get back to the game.”

 

Ichigo’s relieved sigh didn’t go unnoticed and before his hand could spin the forgotten bottle, it was intercepted by another. The sharp angles of dark tattoo’s gave Renji away, and Ichigo found himself giving the redhead a confused look as he retracted his hand. The man only smirked before leaning back on his hands.

 

“You think we’re gonna keep playing when you drop something like that?” Ichigo groaned before dropping his head in his hands, rubbing at his forehead to abate the coming headache.

 

“I got drunk and he was there. There’s not much to tell.” Besides the fact that Ichigo was still pining for the man that had yet to show any signs of attraction toward his student. And from the many expectant looks he was receiving from the general populace, Ichigo realized they wouldn’t let him go without some further explanation. With a resigned sigh, Ichigo held out his hand for another beer, “I’m not giving deep details, but I’ll keep talking.”

 

It was going to be a long night.

 

* * *

  


In the spirit of camaraderie, his friends- while dosed with an unhealthy amount of alcohol- vowed that they would help him snag his Prince Charming. Ichigo only rolled his eyes before leaving the group to pass out on the couch, not willing to risk a ticket for public intoxication or waking up in a stranger’s bed for the second time in a year.

 

By Monday, the orange haired sophomore had even managed to forget about the promise, going about his Literature class with a cleared head and renewed energy. And while Grimmjow began a lecture on the finer points of Native American (a redundant phrase if Ichigo ever knew one. How can someone be native to a place they already lived in?) Literature, Ichigo allowed his eyes to drift around the room.

 

The familiar cracking plaster of the walls and traditional arches of the woodwork were only a few of the obvious signs of age in the old classroom. It was as his eyes were lazily trailing a chip in the wooden foundation that Ichigo caught sight of a familiar ponytail through the window in the door. He continued to watch the hair, as it slowly filled the window until a face peeked around the corner before darting behind the cover of the wall. A moment later, a delicate fist was thrust where the ponytail once hung, a thumb lifted proudly.

 

Ichigo hoped they wouldn’t do anything too drastic…

 

“Kurosaki. What’s your take on the Pequot War through the eyes of one of the tribe members?” Ichigo sighed before giving a rather detailed description of what he’d taken from the excerpt, comparing it to what he had learned in previous years while stressing the vastly different tones of helplessness, fear, and anger. Grimmjow’s nod of approval and slight smile was all he received before the man continued with the lecture.

 

Ichigo refrained from whining as the class continued to drag on listlessly, his attention being drawn back to the door window. It was thankfully empty, but Ichigo didn’t trust his friends to just leave. And for the remaining twenty minutes of class, Ichigo shifted in his seat with growing apprehension. He jumped as students began packing their bags and leaving the room, Grimmjow having dismissed them a few minutes early.

 

Ichigo was one of the last students to leave the room, his arms immediately assaulted as he stepped through the door. He was roughly shoved back into his classroom, the door slammed in his stunned face. Ichigo was quick to recover, a hand darting towards the doorknob and tugging with all his might. He was sorely disappointed when it barely budged and prepared to bang on the glass- now covered by a few pieces of blank copy paper- when the only other occupant of the room spoke up.

 

“Is there a problem?” Ichigo bit back a sharp retort as he left the fruitless exit. Grimmjow had moved to his desk some time during his short trip to the door and was leaning back in his chair watching Ichigo with a quirked brow. The look sparked a quick memory of that night so long ago which Ichigo easily shook away.

 

“Someone locked the door.” Ichigo’s vacant tone was enough to get the full attention of his blue haired professor. Grimmjow approached the sophomore quickly, testing the door with a few quick jerks and twists before frowning.

 

“Where’s the lock?” Ichigo’s confused expression went unnoticed as Grimmjow thumbed the smooth knob. The sophomore looked up in time to see the realization on the blue haired professor’s face, “Someone reversed the knobs.”

 

Ichigo refrained from smacking his palm into his forehead as he dug his phone from his pocket. It was easy enough to create a group message with the hellions he called his friends as the recipients. His message was short and sweet: _Unlock the door or I release the pics from this summer._

 

And the controversy that would cause among all their families would be _glorious_. Ichigo hid a sinister smirk as he heard the definite click of the lock being undone outside the door, Grimmjow practically yanking it open and stepping into the empty hallway. Ichigo only smiled as he passed the confused teacher, a cheerful goodbye thrown over his shoulder as he descended the stairs to the first floor.

 

* * *

  


“You are _evil_ .” Ichigo only shrugged as he ate his fries. Lunch on campus had been switched to the standard cafeteria that offered a select number of meals a week. Ichigo still had about three before he would have to start rationing again. “We were trying to _help_ you, you sex-deprived ass!”

 

Ichigo glared at Rukia for the low blow, huffing as he shoved his plate away, “I don’t _need_ your help because I’m not doing anything. We’ve already been through this.” Ichigo was beyond frustrated with his friend group, their incessant delving into his nonexistent love life a constant pain since the start of freshman year. Ichigo sighed as he slid his drink closer, absently toying with the straw, “Besides, he hasn’t made any passes since I talked to him that second class. I doubt there’s anything there to try for.”

 

Aside from the lust Ichigo hid under a nonchalant facade, that is.

 

“Lies. And if you paid attention in class, you might actually see how much he looks at you.” Renji’s muffled words were cut off by a smack to the back of the head by Rukia, the redhead swallowing sheepishly before continuing, “Like, he watches you a lot. A _lot_ , a lot.”

 

“And you must know this because you were spying on my class, right?” Ichigo smirked as Renji averted his gaze back to his food. Next to him, Inoue chuckled before snatching a napkin from the dispenser in the center of the table and dabbing at the corner of her mouth.

 

“We do it because we care, Kurosaki-kun. You might not realize, but you were in a bit of a funk after you talked to Professor Jeagerjaques.”

 

The English major pouted, eyes drifting over the numerous mingling bodies spread along the cafeteria. “Whatever. Just stop trying to fix this.”

 

“But, Ichi-”

 

“No.” Ichigo fixed every person around the table with a hard stare, arms crossed in defiance, “I’m not giving on this. Stop fucking around in my personal life.”

 

And so the final nail was slammed into the proverbial coffin as four heads dropped in resignation.

 

* * *

  


Ichigo had to fight the smile that threatened to overtake his features as he stepped from his English final, completely ignoring the eyes that bore into his back as the door slammed closed. He was done, until tomorrow at least, and he was going to enjoy the rest of his day by splurging on that tub of cookie dough ice cream he bought a few days ago, maybe catch a couple Z’s while he was at it.

 

Yes, nothing could ruin this perfect mood.

 

That’s what he thought until the wee hours of the night where the pre-final nerves took hold and practically forced him in front of his Calculus textbook. And as his phone switched from Wednesday to Thursday, Ichigo received a call.

 

The phone number was familiar and had the sophomore pausing before he answered. It was only the repeated buzzing that forced his hand, mind shoving away thoughts of derivatives and tangent lines as he focused on the _very_ well-known voice of his past Literature teacher.

 

“You there, Ichigo?” Ichigo wanted to bang his head into a wall, or desk as that was the closest blunt object. But- hazel eyes drifted towards the tome he called a textbook- this textbook alone costed $300 and he deserved one final mindfuck before returning it to the hell known as the bookstore. “Hellllloooo?”

 

“Why are you calling me?” Ichigo had a vague memory of earlier in the semester when he had tried to discuss the precarious relationship with Grimmjow only to hang up after making up a question about the reading. He mentally cursed himself at the stupid action before focusing on the overly chipper tone of his former professor.

 

“Straight to the point, as usual. Just wanted to say your final grade was the highest of the class. Your final was flawless, as expected.” Ichigo blinked at the praise before a grin stretched across his lips. He knew he was doing great in the class, but to be regarded as such by the teacher was a completely different feeling. That still didn’t explain the sudden phone call, though. “I just wanted to offer a celebratory dinner, on me obviously, anywhere you want.”

 

Whoop, there it is!

 

Ichigo sputtered soundlessly, mind functioning like a broken record as he tried to process just _what_ was being offered. This could mean so many things and the sophomore was too apprehensive to let his thoughts run away from him.

 

“That’s...unexpected. Any reason you’re offering?” Ichigo’s feigned nonchalance was weak at best and he was sure Grimmjow could read his tone easily.

 

“I think you deserve it. Considering how rough the year started, you never acted anything less than professional, and I respect that.” Something so stupidly warm blossomed in Ichigo’s chest at the confession: the realization that Grimmjow, through a drunken night of debauchery and year of stolen glances and not-so-obvious longing, could still hold such respect for him. It was almost too much, the happiness that was running through him.

 

Ichigo swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking in, what he hoped, was a steady tone, “Thank you, Grimmjow. And I haven’t had pasta recently, so…”

 

“Olive Garden at seven tomorrow?”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

“Okay, see you then, Ichigo.”

 

The quick end to their conversation had the sophomore reeling, his mind suddenly focused on anything but his upcoming finals.

 

* * *

  


The Calculus final was stupidly easy compared to the classwork, and the cheeky smile of the professor was answer enough. Ichigo returned the smile as he left the classroom, feeling much lighter than when he had entered only an hour before.

 

The fresh air was a blessing and Ichigo revelled in it as he began the walk to his apartment. It was as he began the five minute trek that he pondered his upcoming evening with his former Literature teacher.

 

Grimmjow was an enigma, no other explanation for it. The man was too unreadable, too vague, his voice sheltering what his body language expressed. And those eyes that trapped him so heavily would be his downfall, always drawing his attention no matter the situation.

 

Ichigo sighed as he reached his apartment, languidly entering his small home away from home and heading for his bed. If he was going to get through this night in tact, he would need a few extra hours of sleep.

  


Seven found Ichigo being greeted by a chipper waitress before he was led to a table near the back of the restaurant. His dinner guest was already seated, his back to Ichigo, which allowed the sophomore a moment to take in the slight difference in looks since the last time he’d seen the man.

 

The once untameable head of hair fell in uneven waves around Grimmjow’s head. A broad chest, usually covered by comfortable t-shirts and loose jackets, was now filling a pressed, black jacket. Ichigo took a steadying breath before slipping into the seat opposite his former professor.

 

The smile Grimmjow sent his way nearly took his breath away, “Glad you could make it. I’m not keeping you from studying, am I?”

 

“Not really. Procrastination is a bitch around this time.” Ichigo enjoyed the rumbling laughter of his dinner companion, an easy smile taking residence on his face as the tension broke.

 

Conversation soon flowed around a bottle of wine- Grimmjow making a quick remark on their initial meeting and Ichigo’s inebriated state- and plates of pasta overflowing with cheese and marinara. Ichigo found it near impossible to stop smiling around the surprisingly good conversationalist. The sophomore learned that among Literature, Grimmjow was also an adrenaline junkie- he mainly dabbled in parkour, free running, and rock climbing, though he did also enjoy long rides at high speeds on his prized motorcycle.

 

Desserts saw a switch to more personal conversation about the oranget, Ichigo talking about his eccentric father and twin sisters. He mentioned his budding love of the written word around seventh grade and even talked about a few quick relationships with both genders during high school. All in all, it was a very enjoyable and enlightening evening for both individuals.

 

And as the check was paid, by Grimmjow of course, and the two men exited the restaurant, Ichigo found himself dreading the desolate emptiness of his apartment.

 

“Thank you for tonight. It was surprisingly fun and a good distraction.” Ichigo smiled honestly at his former professor, the weight in his gut growing more uncomfortable as time passed.

 

Grimmjow’s grin seemed to grow at Ichigo’s words, “I feel the same.” Grimmjow paused as though considering his next words before offering a hand to the sophomore. “Good luck on the rest of your exams, Ichigo. It’s been a pleasure teaching you.”

 

Wide eyes stared at the hand in wonder, Ichigo tentatively gripping the larger appendage and giving a firm shake. Neither man made a move to separate their hands as the seconds ticked by, eyes locking in the semi-darkness of the lamplight outside Olive Garden. Ichigo wasn’t sure what power possessed him to break that silence, but he didn’t complain.

 

“Wanna come back to my place for coffee?” Ichigo managed to forget the tiramisu they had not twenty minutes prior, Grimmjow’s knowing smile gaining a devious hint as he offered an affirmative. Grimmjow happily drove them to Ichigo’s apartment, considering the oranget took the bus. The short trip was filled with stiff conversation and low-volume orchestra music.

 

Once the two were safely tucked away in Ichigo’s modest home, the oranget began the strenuous task of finding coffee, a fruitless effort he realized twenty minutes into tearing his kitchen apart. Ichigo nervously left the landmine he now called a kitchen, smiling sheepishly as he stood before a smirking Grimmjow.

 

“Forgot I was out of coffee.” _More like Mocha Monster_ , the sophomore thought as he took a seat further down the couch from Grimmjow. The Literature professor chuckled at the flush that rose on Ichigo’s cheeks, reclining further into the worn sofa as he watched his former student.

 

Ichigo, for his part, felt the atmosphere thicken with each passing second, hazel eyes connecting with blazing blue. There was a pregnant pause as they held each other’s gaze, the tension reaching a fever pitch as Ichigo swallowed involuntarily. Grimmjow’s eyes seemed to darken as they dropped to Ichigo’s neck, watching his Adam’s apple bob attentatively.

 

“I’ve never liked coffee.” Ichigo only hummed in agreement, shifting closer to the man that did wonders to his psych. Grimmjow met him halfway, hands snaking around the oranget’s back and pulling him into a broad chest. Ichigo blushed at the sudden contact, attuning it to the wine from dinner, before meeting Grimmjow’s eyes.

 

There was a fire in blue depths, Ichigo quickly getting enveloped in the inferno as warm lips descended on his own. The kiss was strangely gentle for the lust he could feel surrounding them like a blanket, Ichigo humming as he raised a hand to tangle in blue locks. Grimmjow growled deep in his chest before pressing closer, a hand sliding under Ichigo’s shirt and tracing the contours of his back.

 

Ichigo fought down the moans that wanted to rise as he bit at the lips stealing his breath, gasping as Grimmjow maneuvered past his lips and attacked his throat.

 

The following bites, licks, and scratches led to a night infinitely more pleasurable than the one night stand at the beginning of the semester. And as Ichigo woke the following morning, wrapped in the warmth of Grimmjow’s corded arms and a pleasant soreness in his lower back, he felt nothing could ruin that moment.

 

Until his alarm rang. His thirty minute alarm for the beginning of his Biology exam…

 

“SHIT!” Ichigo rolled out the bed in an uncomfortable heap, fighting the blankets wrapped around his naked torso as he raced around his room in search of clothes. Grimmjow awoke after Ichigo managed to elbow him in the ribs after his quick escape from the bed, groaning as he rolled over and watched the oranget race to put on pants while brushing his teeth.

 

“Why are you up so early?” The Literature professor yawned as he sat up, running a hand through his messy hair.

 

“Bio exam in twenty minutes. Drive me!” Ichigo panted as he pulled his shoes on, glaring at a smirking Grimmjow who had yet to move. “Dumbass, move before I fail!”

 

“I don’t know...It seems stupid for me to get up when I don’t even have an exam to overlook.” Ichigo was ready to rip his hair out as Grimmjow’s smirk grew.

 

“Look, I’ll get you McDonald’s breakfast or something after, but I gotta _go_!” Ichigo had stomped over to his infuriating former professor by this point, fingers poised at his side to strangle the man should he answer wrong. Grimmjow only chuckled before shifting closer to the sophomore.

 

“I’m not really hungry for breakfast, but a blowjob would be greatly appreciated.” Ichigo’s fist shot out faster than even his mind could comprehend, anger at an all time high as his grades were threatened by a _professor_ no less. Grabbing Grimmjow’s hair with his outstretched fist, Ichigo yanked the man nose to nose.

 

“Listen here you horny _fuck_. If I fail this exam, you’re going to fail being a man, and good luck finding your missing dick when I’m done with it.” Ichigo’s hazel eyes had darkened to a threatening omber, Grimmjow gulping as he nodded as much as the hand in his hair would allow. Ichigo smirked before shoving the man away and watching as he hurried to put on the wrinkled clothes from last night.

 

“I was just joking, damn!” Ichigo ignored him as he left the room and waited by the front door. By the time they were dressed and out the door, Ichigo had a grand total of ten minutes to reach the exam room. Grimmjow maneuvered around the morning traffic with ease, pulling to the front of the science building with five minutes to spare.

 

Ichigo smiled as he faced the building, hand poised on the handle before he paused. The orange haired sophomore turned and caught Grimmjow in a quick kiss before pulling back, “Thank you, Grimm.”

 

“I’ll be here after you pass.” Grimmjow’s confident smirk lessened Ichigo’s nerves considerably, the oranget nodding before he left the car and raced towards his classroom.

 

And after the test was completed, with minimal effort surprisingly, Ichigo wasn’t surprised to be met with the familiar car of his former professor out front.

 

* * *

  


“That’s how I knew I found the one for me.” Ichigo sighed as he pushed his laptop away, the closing sentence of his second book- a personal piece- finally typed out. The orange haired man chuckled to himself as he listened to the familiar sounds of Grimmjow rummaging through the kitchen, abandoning his laptop in exchange for joining his clumsy husband.

 

It was easy enough to sneak up on Grimmjow, the man completely enveloped in his cooking and unaware of the oranget until thin arms encircled his waist, “What’s for dinner, today?”

 

“Pasta. We haven’t had it in a while.”

 

Ichigo smiled at the sense of deja vu, pressing further into Grimmjow’s back as he thought back on how he had gotten this far in life.

 

Through the horrors and excitement that was college life, he had managed to graduate with little effort and go on to graduate school where he majored in Literature. Ichigo thought back on the long nights spent toiling over research papers, the days he couldn’t remember on account of thousands upon thousands of bullshitted words spun into a plausible argument.

 

It was exhausting, but worth it; and that also applied to his somewhat frowned upon relationship with his former Literature professor. But, hey, accidents happen.

 

* * *

 

  1. An allusion to Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk, because Brandy Alexander is the hbic (head bitch in charge)



Hope everyone liked it!


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